


with added s'mores

by verity



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Canada, M/M, Sharing a Bed, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-07
Updated: 2012-01-07
Packaged: 2017-10-29 02:46:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/314984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/verity/pseuds/verity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John, Rodney, a shack in Canada. You do the math.</p><p>(There's some marshmallows, too.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	with added s'mores

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darthjamtart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthjamtart/gifts).



"This is like that one episode of the X-Files," Rodney says. "Creepy."

John sits the lantern down on the small table under the sole window. It's true: they are, in fact, in a tiny cabin not far from a logging camp. The main difference is that this cabin has been in the McKay family for years. The windows are hung with cheery plaid curtains and there are probably organic cotton flannel sheets on the bed.

Huh. There's only one bed. That's a little weird.

Rodney catches his gaze. "Yeah, when I said there was a small problem and you cut me off before I could go into the crucial flaw with plan, this would be what I was referring to. Jeanne and I used to camp out on the porch."

They're hiding out from the paparazzi that descended immediately post-declassification. An isolated cabin in Canada seemed like a great idea at the time. No publicity, no IOA, no ex-fiancee who leapt for a prestigious fellowship in Boston as soon as she got the chance to jump ship. Literally.

Oh well. He's shared a lot of shacks with Rodney. The snowy forecast here sounds better than the stormy one in DC.

-

There's a propane stove, but John insists on starting a fire. Rodney complains about the dangers of setting alight "this death trap" until John pulls the marshmallows out of his pack. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"You would have eaten them in the car," John points out.

Rodney doesn't deny it. "S'mores?"

He pulls out one of the Hershey's bars and some graham crackers. No point in going through everything tonight.

"You are a god among men." Rodney pulls two long toasting forks out from under the low counter in the kitchen. "Or Mary Poppins, I can't decide."

John shrugs. "I'd prefer not to repeat PX7-268, that's all." PX7-268 hadn't actually been _that_ bad, but John doesn't remember much aside from the hallucinations.

Rodney rubs his hands together. "Fire. Let's get fire."

"Lay on, Prometheus," John says dryly. (If Rodney cuffs him on back of the head, it's only what he deserves.)

-

It's weird to be sharing a bed with Rodney on earth. The sheets and duvet smell like the cedar chest at the foot of the bed, and Rodney keeps tossing and turning at John's side, uncomfortable in his new pajamas. In Pegasus, even after contact with Earth became routine, they wore in everything that they owned long ago, soft sweats and fraying t-shirts and the boots that John repaired with Ancient super glue five times before writing them off as a loss. Their clean sheets come out of the laundry with the scent of New Lantean rain.

Outside, it's started snowing; John can see it in the gap just above the curtains, knows it's piling up around the SUV, on the steps, along the windowsill. The wind whistles softly. Rodney turns onto his stomach and flops an arm over John, sticks his cold nose into the curve of John's neck and sniffles. He smells like Rodney. John doesn't roll him back over. It's cold outside, and it'll be cold tomorrow, but right now - right here - he's warm, warm, warm.


End file.
